by Jane Yeadon
I went into the kitchen and pretended to have a purge on cleaning whilst, with an ever increasing panic, scouring only the cupboards. From its throne of a shelf my pan glinted at me, at least providing evidence that my time in the labour ward hadn’t entirely been wasted. But that was of little comfort as I foraged further. I was convinced the book must be here but to no avail. Plainly the dratted thing was well and truly lost.
17
NO JOKE
‘Mercy! You’d think a bomb had hit the place.’ Lorna, our class’s cheerful cherub, stuck her head round my bedroom door.
I was especially pleased to see her. Compared to Seonaid’s frenetic approach to life and Marie’s doom-laden prognostications, she managed to combine a sense of fun with that of orderly calm. She said, ‘And I thought only Seonaid could create this level of havoc. Have you been counting all your earthly possessions?’
‘Yes. They’re all there bar my record book,’ I said, gesturing at the covered floor space. ‘I was sure I had it here, but apparently not and the trouble is that, having no patients around today, that bloomin’ Sister Flynn’s been chasing me all over the place about it. Eventually I had to say I’d a bad dose of the curse to get me off duty. At least that got me out of her way. I’ve been turning this place upside-down ever since, but with no luck.’ I gave a huge sigh. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. My life seems full of complications other people manage to avoid. I bet you haven’t lost your book.’
Lorna came into the room. She looked like a cocoa advertisement in her red flannel dressing gown and her hair pigtailed down the back. Even having her perching on one cheek and twinkling at me from the end of my bed made me feel better.
‘Well no I haven’t but maybe there’s something in the wind. Same as you, Seonaid’s lost her book and she’s turning her room upside- down too, though in her case it’s hard to see the difference. Now you, Nurse Mac, are usually more organised. You’ve been clocking the deliveries too. You won’t want to have to go through all that again, will you?’ She stirred a pile of clothes with a desultory foot then turned with the look of a kindly advisor. ‘Now! Where did you see it last?’
‘If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
Lorna looked thoughtful. ‘One way or another you three always seem to be up to something. You make the rest of us look very dull. And where’s Marie, anyway? She might know. She’s always going on about keeping it in a safe clean place. She even makes me nervous.’ She put her hands, palms up, as if warding off evil.
‘Probably taken it to church to make sure it gets plenty blessings. Marie’s such a worrier I haven’t told her about the book. Blast! What a waste of time. I’ve spent all evening looking for the …’ I felt a swear coming on but Lorna might not approve, ‘darn thing.’
‘It’s bound to turn up. You look shattered. Why don’t you just go to bed? Everything seems better in the morning.’ There was a hint of mischief as she added, ‘If you’d like, I’ll put in a special wee prayer for you tonight.’
‘It’ll need to be a big one,’ I said and threw a slipper at her. It missed and caught Cynthia as she barged in. Dressed in gold, she must eventually have had success with the postal service.
‘Oh, I say!’ For a moment she looked taken aback, then heading for some space, located a bare bit of floor and gave a twirl.
‘What do you think?’
‘You’ll certainly be noticed,’ said Lorna, ‘and the colour’s just you.’
Cynthia pursed her lips, puffed her cheeks and pulled in her stomach. ‘You don’t think it’s too tight?’
‘No, it’s fine – just remember not to bend,’ I said and went to the door to look out. ‘Just checking for the footmen and carriage.’
Cynthia cast a reproachful look. ‘I’ve never thought of myself as Cinderella, Jane, and as you’re not going to the Ball, at least I’ll be able to tell you about it. I must say,’ she preened in front of the mirror, ‘I’m getting excited about going. I can’t wait for tomorrow night.’
Lorna wound her pigtail into a halo, stood up and stretched. ‘Well us poor Cinderellas’ll be waiting eagerly for it too.’ She cupped her hand to her ear. ‘And I’m thinking I already hear the sound of the carriage wheels being pumped up.’ She turned at the door as she left, then added, ‘I heard your man Oliver telling his friend Raymond he wasn’t going. It was too expensive.’
‘He’s not my man,’ I said automatically.
‘So I heard,’ laughed Lorna and left, closely followed by Cynthia, suddenly so overtaken by getting her dress and its trial run she said she too had to get to bed.
The following morning, Marie called. Eyes shining and ready for the day, she seemed surprised by my surly responses and reluctance to get out bed. It was safer tucked under the blankets and not confronting the major problem of book loss.
‘Aren’t you going on duty this morn?’
Not bothering to open my eyes, I groaned and rolled over. ‘It’s hardly worth it. I’ve lost my record book and Old Flynn’s chasing me for it. Without it, I’d bet she won’t let me near any patient.’ I gave a despairing sigh. ‘I just don’t know where I put it so right now I’ve got a major problem.’
‘Ah!’
Something in her tone made me open my eyes.
‘Both you and Seonaid left yours lying on a table in the dining room so I took them both away and covered them.’ She waved two brown paper-covered books under my nose with the flourish of a conjuror. ‘I hope you didn’t mind but I was worried about them.’
‘Not half as worried as me,’ I said, getting out of bed and shaking her with, under the circumstances, commendable restraint. ‘Marie, you’ll be the death of us. I know Seonaid’s been hunting high and low for her book. Just you go and tell her about your good deed before she commits suicide.’
‘That’s a mortal sin.’
‘So’s murder. Away you go!’
With all the reverence of handling state jewels I placed the book in front of Sister Flynn. She, pen hovering, scrutinised it before eventually scribbling her signature in the appropriate boxes.
‘I’ve to write a report about you too,’ she sighed, scratching her brow and looking harassed. ‘So you can expect a visit to Matron’s office. Now I must dash, I’m late.’ With that she sped off probably to drum up custom from the antenatal ward.
I spent the rest of the week worrying about an imminent summons. I kept well out of Flynn’s way and tried not to think of a likely and unpleasant encounter heading mine. You didn’t go to Matron’s office for congratulations though Margaret alleged she often popped in for a pleasant chat. I couldn’t imagine ever doing that but maybe it was Margaret’s idea of a joke. Sometimes Irish humour had me foxed.
I wondered where I’d gone so wrong that my next destination was going to be Matron’s office. Was this a formality before a departure? I’d just arrived! And it was no good telling anybody else about it. Despite what Lorna said, when it came to drama, our group was competitive.
Then, eventually and on my last day, I blurted out my anxiety to Lisa who, in the absence of any action in labour ward, was brewing up in its kitchen.
She looked surprised then amused. ‘Ah sure she’d only be joking. Don’t you be thinking she’s that bad. Under that bib and tucker beats a fun-loving heart. You should have come to me sooner and I’d have put you out of your misery. You’ve been grand here, so you have. I’ve even heard her say so.’ She handed me a cup of coffee black enough to have pace-making qualities. ‘Here! Swallow this, it’ll do you good. I can’t think why you’ve been worrying – save that for the Nursery.’ Then she went off into the corridor, strains of ‘Do What You Do Do Well’ floating gently in her wake.
18
DRIVING LESSONS
Only Seonaid and Cynthia were going to the Ball, but our corridor had all the excitement of a drama unfolding. Everybody, bar Margaret, was keen to watch the girls getting ready. She was cloistered in her room and readying for an alt
ernative pursuit of something equally exciting if different.
‘It’s maybe my imagination but I think you’ve grown,’ said Marie as Seonaid, dressed in red, pirouetted in front of us with the grace of a flame.
‘It’s a piece,’ she said, patting the extra inches of hair, ‘and I’m praying it doesn’t come off, at least until we start dancing. Then if it does, I’ll pretend it doesn’t belong to me.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I could put the breeze up Raymond. Scream and say it’s a rat.’ Her heels pumped and she gave another twirl.
‘Sounds as if it’s going to be a fun night then, especially as you’ll be putting the guy so much at ease. And what about you, Cynthia? Can we help you fix anything?’ asked Lorna, already in her dressing gown.
‘Jolly nice of you to offer, but no thanks, I think I’ll manage,’ said Cynthia, using a jewelled clip to harpoon her hair into a French plait. She sounded unusually anxious. ‘But you’d tell me if I didn’t look alright, wouldn’t you?’
I thought she looked splendid and said so.
‘I’d say she was like Brittania on Speed,’ whispered that naughty Lorna, watching a reassured Cynthia take off in a vapour of Madame Rochas. ‘But maybe that’s what that Brian Welch needs. She might speed him up if his brain can make the connections. He’s as slow as a two-toed sloth. I once saw him in the antenatal ward lengthen his stride. I almost put it in the report book.’
Marie gave a little cry. ‘You’re cruel, Lorna, so you are. Did you not see how happy she looked? I think it’s grand that he asked her.’
‘Ah! But he didn’t. She asked him – bought his ticket too.’
I was stunned. Cynthia was renowned for her thrift. I said, ‘Maybe she’s changing. I’ll test her. Next time I ask her for coins change for the phone, I’ll expect her to give them without asking to see the colour of my money first.’
‘Now you’d be asking for a miracle there but here’s one to be going on with,’ Lorna said, turning to Seonaid. ‘You’ve grown by another six inches, I’d say.’
Seonaid teetered past. Despite all her complaints about Raymond, she looked excited. ‘Feet killing me already. I’ll never last the night. Expect me back before midnight.’
‘No matter how early that is, it’ll be after I’m in bed,’ said Lorna, stifling a yawn. ‘Some of us need our beauty sleep. Goodnight, folks.’
Once everyone was gone we fished Margaret out of her room. She was dressed in enough protective gear to withstand nuclear fallout and was highly nervous.
‘I see Seonaid and Cynthia weren’t the only ones getting dressed up for tonight,’ I said, taking in the goggles and shin guards. ‘They’re wonderful gauntlets – they look as if they belong to a biker.’
‘They do,’ Margaret replied briefly. ‘They’re my brother’s. He said I’d need them if I was biking round the district.’
We were about to help Margaret deal with her big problem and she sounded despairing. ‘Only you girls know I can’t ride a bike. I was trying to get one to practise on when you appeared.’
As secrets go, I thought it a pretty poor effort, but it was certainly true she needed that particular skill to move onto Second Part Midwifery, when we’d need to get about the streets. I’d never thought it was an unusual talent but it had certainly reduced Margaret to something resembling humility. Who’d have thought it! If we’d been surprised earlier by her embarrassed admission, now we were more amazed when she said that even her brother didn’t know.
‘How did you manage to keep it a secret?’ I asked.
Her shrug conveyed a world-weary disdain for the question, whilst hinting at a score unsettled. ‘He was bigger than me and always grabbed the bike first. Whenever I tried to have a go, he’d shove me off. After a while, I just stopped trying.’
‘You’ve had a serious omission in your educational development,’ I said, enjoying this brief spell of superiority, ‘and Marie and I are here to help fill the gap. It’s actually dead easy. We’ll show you. So let’s go. Thank goodness Jo’s on duty. We’ll get the bike shed key from reception without the MacCready third degree.’
Outside, music floated faintly from the direction of the medical residence with a distant burst of laughter, making the atmosphere a bit more cheerful than it had been on our last visit. Light spilt onto the grassed area. Shrubs hunkered together like gossips discussing the attendees whilst the occasional couple, bent on intimacy amongst the trees, looked for as much privacy as us, their smothered giggles somehow involving us in their conspiracy.
I turned the key in the bike shed lock, swung the door open and saw a line of bikes. They weren’t quite original boneshakers, but as I handled one, quickly realised were faithful to the original in terms of weight.
‘Choose your weapon!’ At least their tyres were rubber and they had three speed gears. However, Margaret was looking so apprehensive it was doubtful she appreciated such refinements. ‘It’s all to do with confidence. Isn’t that right, Marie?’
‘Oh, surely. Come on, Margaret, it’s only a bicycle.’ Marie wheeled one to the door. ‘Is this one not just waiting for you?’ She patted the seat in an encouraging way, her smile at its most seraphic. ‘If you get on, we’ll both hold it. Come on now, that’s a good girl.’ Marie’s wheedling tone should have had Margaret doing a saddle vault but she just stood stock still, staring – even trembling. Her gauntlets waved in the air.
‘I can’t do it, I really can’t.’ Her voice verged on hysteria whilst she stood bracing herself as if preparing to fight off an attacker.
‘Oh, just get on!’ I said, throwing patience out the window. It was cold standing about and I could have been in bed instead of out here in a whistling wind, gripping onto the handlebars of a lead weight, trying to convince somebody that getting onto something they were likely to fall off was a progressive move. ‘Look you can’t possibly come to harm – not with us here.’
Something between a cry and a snort betrayed Margaret’s doubt, but at last, grabbing Marie by one shoulder she climbed on, then rally-racer style gripped the handlebars, feet tip-toed to the ground. Now that we’d become stabilisers it was our turn to brace ourselves. Margaret’s weight might have been an advantage in sumo wrestling but not for this activity.
‘Don’t let go!’ The voice was muffled amongst enough scarves to bandage her into a mummy. ‘And where’s the brakes?’
‘You’ll never find them with these goggles on. Take them off and I’ll look after them,’ I offered.
‘Well take good care of them. Anyway, somebody might recognise me,’ she bleated.
‘Oh for goodness sake, who’d be interested? There’s nobody around. Look! The road’s empty – perfect for a maiden launch. Marie and I’ll wheel you down a bit so that you get the feel of things. Try putting your feet on the pedals. That’s right. Come on, you can do this.’
With the goggles removed, a pale sheen of sweat could be seen on her forehead, but the long road beckoned and it wasn’t time to lighten up. ‘Good heavens, Margaret. You don’t want Cynthia thinking she’s got one over you.’
‘She already has. She’s at the Ball.’
Who’d have thought Margaret possessed such a weeny voice?
‘Well, we’re not either, so how about doing something constructive . Let’s go.’
Marie and I, like frail tugs trying to guide a liner, set off down the road, our ship making us veer so crazily our muscles strained and protested as if they were being pulled apart.
‘Has anybody seen the harbour master?’ I asked, longing for a straight course.
‘Ah, now, stop that and your laughing or we’ll all end in the bushes,’ Marie reproached and suppressed a giggle.
I’d been relying on her to be Captain Sensible and now here she was putting concentration in jeopardy.
Margaret’s jaw set. She clamped her feet on the pedals then started to turn them in the ponderous way of a paddleboat.
‘That’s right, keep going.’ Encouraging and upping the pace was proving
difficult but eventually our trainee began to accelerate. Quite soon she was making us run. At this rate and, worryingly, we wouldn’t be able to keep up.
Blood pumping in my head seemed to coincide with feet pound- ing on the road. Maybe I was having a heart attack. What a way to go.
‘Look up!’ I cried. Margaret seemed to be hypnotised by the pedals but managed to lift her head.
‘No, not the sky, you daftie. Ahead!’
And then, with a burst of speed to leave us standing, she was off! Freed from restraint she was launched. Helpless we watched. The large blob that was Margaret grew smaller by the minute. She was making a zig-zag course towards the perils of Grosvenor Road where the sound of her wails slowly faded into the distance.
19
DRIVING WITH CARE
Marie had given herself up to disaster, burying her face in her hands and moaning. ‘She’s heading for traffic – she’s going to be killed. Oh why did we ever think we could help? We’ll be in such trouble. Mother of God! I knew I should have stayed with my geriatrics back home.’
‘Shush a moment, Marie.’ I’d been diverted by something quite extraordinary. ‘Hang on a sec. Look, it must be Cinderella time. There’s a pumpkin on the loose.’ Marie spread her fingers to look through them. ‘Sure pumpkins don’t move,’ she whispered.
‘Well then it must be Cynthia. See that gold shape lurking in the bushes? Open your eyes, see? It looks as if she needs to get away but she’s not sure where. She’s weaving about like she’s lost, and oh, Lord.’ Small whimpering sounds floated towards us. ‘I think she must be crying.’
Marie shook her head in disbelief then, taking in the agitated figure, registered with a start. As quickly forgetting her pledge to care only for the elderly, she snapped into Sister Mercy mode and said, ‘Ah – the wee love! Look, you’re good at running. You go after Margaret and I’ll see to Cynthia. Sure but she sounds really upset – the poor soul. What could’ve gone wrong?’